by Alex Ander
She swiveled her head a few degrees toward him and arched an eyebrow.
Observing the look on her face, his shoulders dancing up and down, he chuckled. “I can see it now...Raven, raise a pant leg toward that dark corner over there, will you?” He held a flat hand in front of his eyes. “Not that much. You’re blinding me.”
Devlin pressed her lips together to stifle her amusement.
“Tone,” he snickered, “tone it down some.”
No longer able to suppress the urge to smile, she lightly kicked him in the shin. “If I were a member of your SOG unit, I believe this is where I would flip you the bird.”
His laughter increased before subsiding while he rubbed the spot on his leg she had tapped.
“Lucky for you, I’m a lady.” She undid the flap on the envelope. “I went back to the office before dinner and,” she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Randall, “picked these up for you.” After peeking into the envelope, she shoved a hand back inside and hauled out a leather bifold. “Your salary’s written halfway down the welcome letter.”
“Whoa.” His brows rocked upward. “This is way more than what I was making at the DEA.”
“It’s also more than—” she leaned forward while swinging an arm his way. “Here’s your cred pack.”
Randall opened the bifold to see his badge, a silver star inside a circle, along with his identification.
“It’s also more than what deputy marshals start out at, but,” she shrugged, “since we’re in uncharted waters, I thought I’d push for more.”
“Thanks Jessica.”
“I hope this tells you how much I want you on this team.”
He smiled, “I’d have come on board for,” before thumping the area on the page where his annual salary was printed, “half this amount.”
Devlin threw up an arm. “Now he tells me.”
Randall sniggered and eyed his new income again. “It looks like I can afford to keep my old place and get a new one here.”
She snapped her fingers. “Speaking of that...” She disappeared into the house, returning a couple minutes later. “Here’s the number of that real estate agent I was talking to you about. He has a really nice place in move-in condition that’s close to the office. Since he knows me—and since it’s already furnished with some essentials—he said you could stay there a couple nights to get a feel for it. Then, if you like it, all you’d have to do is sign the papers.”
He nodded at the business card she had given him. “I’ll check it out before I leave town.”
A deep crease forming on her forehead, Devlin looked away, sighing a few moments later.
Randall lifted his gaze to see her moping. “Okay. If it makes you feel better, I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow?”
Biting her lower lip, she spied him and shook her head.
He placed his paperwork on a table and faced her. “What is it? You have that,” he made a zigzag motion above his brows, “squiggly thing going on. That tells me something’s wrong.”
Devlin smiled inwardly. Curt says the same thing. “Am I really that easy to read?”
“Like a large-print book with a magnifying glass.” Randall curled his fingers back toward himself. “Talk to me.”
Devlin dropped crossed arms onto her belly and studied her shoes for several seconds before rocking her head backward and letting it hang off the back of the couch. “I’m thinking the President screwed up.”
Randall frowned. “Excuse me? What-what are you talking about?”
“About me...I’m talking about me. I’m not sure I have what it takes to do this job.”
“I don’t understand. You were great out there...in the field.”
She righted her head. “I haven’t felt this,” she faltered, “this unsure of myself since I first started with the Marshals Service. As a newbie, I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing back then, and I’m feeling the same way now.”
“Where’s this coming from? You’re one of the most capable agents I know—man or woman.”
Devlin faced him. “I’m not cut out for these secret, clandestine missions where I’m on my own. I’m a marshal. I know who the bad guys are. I know how to track them down. And I have the law on my side.” She shook her head. “But this ‘black ops’ stuff is...it’s a whole other world.”
Randall eyed his partner, his mind taking him back to when he graduated high school.
“Here—in the U.S.—I know my job. And I’m damn good at it, too. But, when we were in Norway, I found myself off balance...not knowing what to do next. And I didn’t like it.”
He smiled to himself. Perfect segue. “You know,” he crossed his legs, looked upward, and eyed the tops of the Thuja trees, “right before I graduated from high school, I went into a funk. I was days away from becoming an adult, and I had no freaking clue what I was going to do with my life.”
“You and millions of other teens.”
“True. But none of them had my Pops...to share with them some of his insight. I remember him...”
Devlin let out a truncated, barely audible groan before she could stop herself.
He pointed at her. “I heard that.”
“I’ve been wondering when you were going to drop another Pops story on me.”
“You pretend you’re annoyed; however, deep down inside, you know you love my stories.”
“I know I would’ve loved your Pops. That’s for sure.” She extended an upturned hand toward Randall. “Please continue, King Solomon.”
Hearing his full call sign, he grinned. “Anyway, Pops must’ve seen me sulking around the house, because he pulled me aside and asked what was troubling me. When I told him, he looked pensively at the floor for the longest time. I could see the wheels of wisdom spinning.”
Devlin leaned forward, her eyes never straying from Randall.
“Then, after nodding his head a couple times, he stood, patted me on the shoulder, and said to me...”
Not having blinked in the last fifteen seconds, Devlin waited for the kernel of truth.
“...‘You’ll figure it out, son.’ Then,” Randall raised his arm, “he walked into the kitchen and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge.”
She recoiled, her head going back a little further. “That’s it? You’ll figure it out? That’s all he said?”
Randall held up a forefinger. “It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it...matter-of-factly. He doled out that insight as if he were telling me two plus two equals four.” Randall shrugged. “He wasn’t worried about my future. And, if Pops wasn’t worried, then that told me I shouldn’t be either. I’d figure it out.”
“No offense, but,” Devlin rolled a finger at her partner, “your delivery didn’t exactly instill in me the same confidence as Pops’ tone apparently did for you.”
He chuckled. “How’s this then? Do you remember when we were aboard that helicopter and you said to me, ‘What if I hadn’t figured out your crazy plan and didn’t have the chopper in place?’”
“I believe I said crazy ‘A’ double ‘S’ plan. But, yes, I remember. Go on.”
He smiled at her humor. “To which I replied...‘We’d have found another way. We always will, Jessica.’”
Her eyebrows came together.
He put both feet on the deck and listed closer to her, his face turning stoic. “You’re not alone in this. You have me. And the two of us will...figure it out.” He paused. “We always will, Jessica.”
Mulling over his words, Devlin drew her lips into her mouth and stared at the decking. The uncertainty that had been dogging her all day seemed to have faded a bit. She regarded Randall and gave him a thin grin. “Thanks for the pep talk. I think it may have worked...somewhat at least.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“And, at the risk of inflating your ego, your Pops stories—while I wouldn’t go so far as to say I love them—they are...”
Randall’s eyebrows went higher while he tilted his head a half
inch. “Yes?”
“They are,” she hesitated, “pretty cool.”
“That’s because my Pops was pretty cool.” He claimed his beer and tipped the opening toward her. “To King and Raven...and all our wild adventures ahead.”
Devlin picked up her husband’s near-empty bottle but stopped short of clanking it against Randall’s. Half-smiling, a gleam in her eye, she amended the toast, “To Raven and King,” before clinking the vessels’ glass necks together and taking a sip.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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PRE-ORDER NOW…
Click the above image to pre-order Let the Hunt Begin (Jessica Devlin – U.S. Marshal Action & Adventure Book #3). Then turn the page for a sneak peek at Jessica’s upcoming adventure.
… … … … …
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Chapter 1
Sixty Seconds
14 MAY—4:34 P.M.
Swinging an AR-15 rifle to his left, a six-five, muscle-bound man dressed in black tactical clothing—including helmet, goggles, black balaclava, and a chest rig loaded with spare magazines—glimpsed the watch face on his inner wrist. “Sixty seconds!”
Standing on Six-Five’s three o’clock, also wearing tactical clothing and gear, a short and slim black-clad individual pivoted right while scanning the prone customers from behind the sights of an identical AR-15.
*******
FIFTY FEET AWAY...
Her right cheek pressed against the cold tile, her palms flat to the floor on either side of her head, Julia stared wide-eyed at her boyfriend. Don’t. Don’t do it, Todd.
In a mirror opposite pose from Julia, Todd spied her and clenched his teeth while sliding his right hand across the tile and down to his right ankle.
The terror she had felt a minute ago now eclipsed by a newfound fear, she managed to shake her head at him while mouthing the word ‘No’ multiple times. This is not your fight.
Fifty feet away, Six-Five’s voice: “Thirty seconds!”
*******
FIFTEEN SECONDS LATER...
In clothing and gear matching that of their two companions but with bulging duffle bags slung over their shoulders, two people hurried from the back of the bank and into the main lobby.
Spotting them, Six-Five twirled an upturned index finger in the air. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The newcomers and the short, slim operator headed for the sliding glass doors.
Six-Five backpedaled toward the entrance while keeping the muzzle of his rifle trained on the patrons.
“Freeze!”
Their backs to a commanding, unfamiliar voice, the men with duffle bags stopped.
Six-Five whirled around and brought his weapon to bear on a man already pointing a pistol at him.
“Drop your—”
‘Slim’ rotated right and sent a barrage of gunfire downrange.
Ten 55-grain 5.56mm bullets perforated the man’s chest and neck.
His torso convulsed and twisted clockwise. His trigger finger twitched, and his Glock 43 fired once.
The eleventh 5.56mm projectile sped by his face, exited the building through a window, and struck a woman in the back of her right thigh. She grabbed her leg and went to one knee before collapsing onto the sidewalk.
The man with the pistol fell to the floor.
“Todd!” Her screams rising above those coming from panicked customers, Julia pushed away from the floor and scrambled on hands and knees to her fallen man. “No—no—no,” she slipped her left arm under his head and neck while covering his many bullet wounds with her free hand. “Hold on. You’re,” she quickly shifted her now bloodied palm from one dark splotch on his chest to another, “you’re going to be all right. Just stay with me, baby. Just...”
His arms laying limp on the floor at his sides, his right hand still clutching his Glock pistol, Todd looked up at Julia. “Jewel, I lov—” a gurgling sound accompanying his words, he swallowed.
“Save your strength, sweetie. Help is on the way.”
The robbers bolted out of the bank.
Julia whipped her head toward the other patrons and yelled, “Somebody call an ambulance,” before coming back to her man. “We’re going to get you to a hospital. You’ll see. Everything will—”
“I,” he coughed, and a line of red shot out of his mouth and landed on his chin. “I,” he gasped, “love...”
“It’s okay.” She wiped away the blood. “It’s okay. You’re going to be—”
His eyelids drooped.
“No—no. Stay with me. Stay with me.”
He closed his eyes, “...you.” His head lolled away from her a tick later.
Seeing the life flow out of him, her lower lip quivering, her eyes filling with moisture, Julia brought his face to her chest, and squeezed him. Three whimpers later, she threw her head backward and wailed at the ceiling.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 2
Would You Like Some?
TWO DAYS LATER...
16 MAY—9:11 A.M.
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Bare chested, and wearing black jeans, Noah Randall twirled a white, short-sleeved dress shirt around his body and slid arms into the covering, concealing the Walther PPQ45 on his right hip.
The apartment’s doorbell rang a second time.
His bare feet slapping the wood flooring, “Keep your pants on,” he approached the front door. “I’m com—” he peeked through the peephole and recoiled a heartbeat later. A frown materialized on his face. What is... He twisted the doorknob and swung open the barrier. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too.”
Randall let a meager smile come and go. “Sorry. I’m just a little surprised. I thought you would have left by now.” A beat. “Hello.”
The visitor went to tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder to see into the residence. “Do you have company?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like some?”
The newly deputized thirty-six-year-old, five-eleven, one-seventy United States Deputy Marshal gave his caller a quick down-and-up, taking in her physical qualities.
Late twenties. Five-ten. Athletic figure. Long blonde hair. Long legs. Under a black leather jacket, full breasts pushed the limits of a white, low-cut blouse.
He lifted his gaze and admired her pose—weight shifted to one foot, fingers shoved into back pockets, head slightly cocked to one side.
Following her own once-over of his handsome features—black, well-manicured eyebrows above brown eyes; dark ‘ten o’clock shadow’ covering a tanned face; sculpted pectoral muscles—she snaked her right hand into his open shirt, touched fingertips to his hairy chest, and nudged him further into the dwelling.
Randall took two steps backward.
Lifting her free hand to cradle the back of his neck, she tested the waters with a soft peck on his lips.
He laid hands on her waist.
Unsure if the gesture was an obstruction or an invitation, she listed away and regarded him. Seeing the same desire in his eyes that burned in hers, she shut the door with an outward turn of a brown hiking boot and went in hard and fast with her next lip-lock.
Randall stripped her of her jacket and blouse, tossed the garments, and mashed his mouth against hers.
She peeled the shirt off his shoulders while driving him backward.
He hit the wall.
She pressed her belly to his.
Their arms entangling, they French-kissed.
Randall slid hands to her waist and tugged on pants that held firm.
She unbuttoned and unzipped her blue jeans.
He pushed the attire down over her backside and cupped bare skin where he had expected to touch underwear. His blood pumping harder, he hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Sensing the interruption, she smiled. “Not what you were exp—”
He continued his oral assault.
She kissed him and pulled back, “Not wh
at you were expecting, was it?” before lunging forward and taking his lower lip into her mouth.
The fingers of his left hand slipping under the waistband of her thong, his other hand fiddling with the clasp on her bra, he scrunched his eyebrows. After what happened a few days ago, I wasn’t expecting anyth— his scowl deepened, and he envisioned his work partner.
Panting, “Oh, Noah,” the blonde woman tilted her head and drew his face deeper into the side of her neck, “I—”
He grasped her shoulders and pushed her upper body away.
Her eyebrows bunching together, she spied him. “What’s wrong?”
“This can’t happen. I made a promise,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “a promise that this wouldn’t happen.”
“So did I, but,” Faith Mahoney grabbed a few quick breaths, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left Jessica’s place that night.” She pulled up her pants, turned around, and squeezed her temples between her palms while eyeing the floor. “I’ve...”
Randall glanced at the red strings from the thong he had tugged on; they now arched over her waist, well above the waistline of her jeans. He grimaced. I might’ve gotten a tad overzealous with those.
“...I’ve never felt this way for anyone else, Noah.” She rubbed her forehead. “This is all so new, so strange...these feelings I have running through me.” She spun left to face him. “I...”
Having managed to unhook her red bra, he watched the lingerie’s right strap drop to her elbow while the lace cups stayed in place.
“...I can’t let this go. I can’t let you go...at least not without knowing where I stand. With you. With each other. Us.” A beat. “You must feel the same about me.” A moment passed. “All the time we spent together...the cramped cabinet, the looks, the verbal exchanges. I saw it in your eyes. I heard it in your voice. I know you want me, too.”
Randall planted hands on hips and gawked at the floor, his mind taking him back to that under-the-sink cabinet they had shared in Seattle...
“Is there any way you can reach the magazine pouch on my belt?” Randall eyed his Walther. “I want to top this off.”